


Alone In The Bunker

by Jahn



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The 100 (TV) Fusion, Bloodreina - Freeform, Bunker, Grounder Octavia Blake, Other, gladiator, octavia - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 18:43:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18744880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jahn/pseuds/Jahn
Summary: OC based loosely off Octavia talks about what life's like in the bunker.Life is hard when you are starving.It sucks when all your friends are dead. It's even worse when you're the reason they died in the first place and you're the only one left.





	Alone In The Bunker

**Author's Note:**

> Critique is welcome but please don't be too harsh in your judgement (it hurts the baby)

So string me up and hang me by the neck to die for all my crimes have led me here and I don’t deserve to have a happy life. The lies I’ve heard,the injustice makes my toes curl and I will take out a nose off a face that steals from their neighbour so he may eat. We put a baker’s dozen in a fighting pit to give them a fair shot at life and we watch until there’s just one left alive. We eat the rest. And I pray I never see the day there’s less than thirteen left. When there’s only two left, do you call a ceasefire or do you get tricked into laying down your weapons .and when they swipe across your neck, the way you were taught in the Survival class do you call it murder or mercy killing?  
I chose to survive, this was the only life I’d ever known, the strength of a fighter, the strategy of a warrior and the resilience of a survivor, I knew I didn’t feast on my mother’s blood to lay down my arms now when it came right down to it. I’d tell you what happened next in the bunker, all alone, when all my fellow men were dead. I roam across these halls, I run my hands across the wall where the kids would mark their height. I add mine next to these, the tallest amongst marks from kids who will forever remain at 3 feet 4 inches and I think about how Romeo towered over my petite 5’5 feet . Some days I sit with my skirts spooling, beside the out of order greenhouse and I think about strawberries of all things. The past seems like a distant dream like the memories of a dying man or recollections from a life lead before this incarnation. I wonder who I’d been back then –probably someone who hated the outdoors so much they vowed to stay cooped in if they could do it all over again.  
Sometimes, when I’m walking by the hospital wards, I think about the time my best friend,Niylah was training to be a nurse but they put her in the slaughterhouse instead. Of what use is a doctor when there are no people left to heal? We needed her knowledge of human anatomy to properly preserve the fresh livestock being brought in. Where to cut to draw the least blood. We were running out on disinfectants as well. She let her escape, a woman with a young child crying to be nursed. I wonder where she thought they’d hide. No body has ever escaped from the underground. We don’t even know if the ground is survivable. It’s better to go down in a fair fight for your life rather than being irradiated.  
They got Nylah, the woman and her husband, the accomplice in the next Pitts. The child passed soon after due to lack of milk.  
My head spins as I think about it.It hurts. The room is spinning. The white lights dim before my eyes. A bulb blinks nearing the end of its life. Maybe I’ll outlive the lighting equipment too,I tell myself wryly. It’s the last thought I have before my vision goes dark and my head hits the floor.


End file.
